Well, There's A First For Everything
by bhanesidhe
Summary: Prompt/Request: "Their parents forbid that Stiles & Lydia spend time together, cuz she's "rich" & he's not. They can't even talk at school because Lydia's mom is a teacher. But it sure as hell didn't stop them from becoming friends & falling in love." [stydia-fanfiction on tumblr needs to fill requests in before S6 premiere. This is the 4th of 4 prompts... cut into 11 parts. idky]
1. · 1st Time They Speak Its Chemistry

Description: "Their parents forbid that Stiles and Lydia spend time together, cuz she's "rich" and he's not. So since then, they meet at the school behind the town, no one comes here. They can't even talk at school because Lydia's mom is a teacher. But it sure as hell didn't stop them from becoming friends and falling in love with each other."

[stydia-fanfiction on tumblr needs to fill requests in before S6 premiere. This is the 4th of 4 prompts... cut into 11 chapters. I'm not sure how that worked out.]

Genre: Slice of Life

* * *

They both had reputations, famous and/or infamous, circulating long before their worlds collided.

As the Sheriff's son, even if he didn't have a dime to his name, Stiles had access to things and a reputation for making tickets disappear and getting friend's vehicles out of impound in less than conventional means. As the daughter of an administrator at the school, Lydia was virtually untouchable when it came to delinquency, and because of that she made irresistible company. Not to mention her wealthy businessman father, who would compensated for his lack of parenting skills with expensive clothes, world travel and paying off her exurbanite credit card debts.

By itself, their paths only would have crossed at school, but between grades 3-9 they never spoke.

· **1st Time They Speak Its Chemistry – Mr. Harris' Class To Be Exact**

"Reflecting on your test results from the last quarter," Mr. Harris uttered his terms, "to combat the plague of ignorance you're going to combine efforts in a selection of paired assignments. The entire sophomore class will have partners dictated to them for the rest of the year."

With an ominous air about him, Mr. Harris handed down papers like verdicts, facedown so no one student knew what to expect. On it read their end of term projects, grade averages and the name of a partner selected based on opposing percentages in hopes that the 'lacking' might be dragged up from the depths by association.

"This is crazy!" Scott crowed, beaming down at his assignment.

"This is crazy," Stiles sounded less enthused, not that Scott paid him any mind.

"He paired me with Allison," Scott held out the paper. No, flapped the paper under Stiles' nose as evidence. "What are the chances?"

"Pretty good actually," Stiles brow raised and Scott looked at him inquisitively. So he explained with an easy shrug, "Your grades are crap. Her grades are not."

Even if Scott deflated a little, he didn't stop looking at the assignment like it was a tablet sent down from heaven. Stiles however, figured his assignment had to be a practical joke because his partner made no sense at all.

There was no way, not in this universe, not even in the darkest timeline would Lydia Martin rank as his scholastic polar opposite. Social? Fiscal? Fashionable? All of those, check, check, check. But in grades? And yet, there it was in Times New Roman print. This deserved investigation, but demanding answers from Mr. Harris sounded as appealing as asking to be castrated for funsies. The only other option was the nuclear option; asking Lydia.

As he edged across the aisle to the front of the classroom and neared her desk he could feel classmates' judgmental stares jabbing at him while hearing the titters of early gossip. But the worst of it had to be the look she gave him when she realized who he would be. A flash of uneasiness, anger and then ultimately disappointment settled in her big bright eyes just before she returned to absently flipping through textbook pages with one hand and twiddling a pencil with the other. They would have been beautiful eyes if they weren't so vicious.

"Stiles," he said by way of an introduction, shoving his hand out for her to shake. People did handshakes, right? Like, casually?

"What the hell is a Stiles?" she glanced up, her eyes narrowed further and she leaned further away like his touch would burn.

Quickly, he yanked his hand back and wrung the straps of his backpack, trying like hell to still them.

"Uhm, it's my name. We're assigned together."

"That's not the name I have on the assignment sheet," she responded dismissively.

"Please!" he stepped closer and hissed at a whisper. "Just call me Stiles. No one calls me that."

After she realized they were drawing more eyes, she blew out a breath and with the end of her pencil, gestured for him to take a seat across from her. And he did, dropping like a sack of bricks.

.

Keeping to himself, unsure of how to start a conversation or begin to study, he began to pull out notebook after notebook instead. He flipped back and forth through his notes, then opened up next folder filled with revisions and then the next. Piling up a hefty stack onto the center of the desk between them.

"I thought I was passing," he mumbled in a barely audible voice.

"What?" Lydia asked. It was hard to know if she actually asked the question or if he imagined it, because when he looked over at her she looked uninterrupted. She never stopped scribbling circles along the margin of her textbook while she sulked off toward the classroom clock.

" _'What'_ what?" Stiles straightened up and stared.

"What do you mean?" Lydia looked over unnerved, her pencil stilled.

"I mean, how can I be paired with you if I'm passing?" he asked, genuinely mystified displaying all of his semesters work in fistfuls. Very slowly her eyes widened, that earlier uneasiness turned into full blown fear.

"What are you talking about? Of course you're passing," she lied poorly. "I'm failing, why else would they pair us?"

"Nu-uh," his eyes narrowed slightly, trying to see if this were a test. "Okay, I'm not a genius but I can't be the only one who knows how smart you really are."

"Shhh," she hissed fiercely and leaned closer, ducking just out of view from their classmates. "If you don't tell anyone about my good grades I won't tell anyone your name. Deal."

It was a statement, not a question and of all the great many things he heard about her, Stiles had to acknowledge - Lydia Martin always got what she wanted.

.

The next time they had chemistry, the room buzzed with the energy of students getting to know their partners and their subject matters. Not them. They could think of nothing they had in common and since their yearend project could be worked out over an extended weekend, they agreed to do exactly that. Why bother with it now?

Lydia drew notes into the margins of her textbooks and kicked a nervous rhythm as she counted down the minutes of the period, while Stiles continued to flip through his personal revisions like a madman with periodic breaks of stoic contemplation.

While tapping his chin and mumbling lists to himself he'd finally realized what had happened to cross their destined paths; "Oh, of course! I'm failing because of my paper-"

"What about your paper?" she asked, whether out of boredom or curiosity it wasn't clear, but she stopped kicking her foot.

"I detailed the entire history of the male circumcision," he said as he unkinked his neck.

She regarded him closely, "this is chemistry class. And you handed that in to Mr. Harris?"

"Mmhm," his expression went strained when she no longer responded. Neither by kicking her foot, tapping her pencil, blinking or even seemingly breathing. It looked very much like he had ruined any chance of them having a working relationship for the rest of the year.

Finally she said low, biting her lips a little "that's funny."

"Is it?" His eyes screwed up in disbelief. "You know you can physically laugh if you think it's funny."

With that she scoffed lightly, tossed her hair over her shoulder, went back to flipping through her textbook while the heel of her pump built an anxious tandem against the table leg. Something about the act unnerved him, not exactly her kicking the table but the idea that someone would say _'that's funny'_ rather than laugh.

After sitting back in his seat, he gave it great thought, and for the rest of the period observed her without looking at her. A brilliant girl that hid her wits from the crowd, her nerves in high end boots and laughs behind keen eyes, and he made an executive decision. Since Stiles had nothing else to do during class, he would spend the rest of the year trying to make Lydia laugh.

* * *

* ** _"Well, There's A First For Everything."_** In the movie Pretty and Pink, there's a throwaway line Blaine/Andrew McCarthy said to Andie/Molly Ringwald on the night of their first date when he invited her to the rich kid's party. At her reluctance, lightheartedly he reminds they should always try new things, maybe they could start with the party as an alternative to hang-gliding. He should have taken her hang-gliding instead of to that douchey party. 'nuff said.


	2. · 1st Time They Meet Its Silently

· **1st Time They Meet Its Silently – Because The Library Is Better Than The Classroom.**

* * *

Because they need to be seen doing something other than flipping through books and occasionally chatting for the following weeks, Stiles took full advantage of being the Sheriff's son.

When Stiles first presented the idea to Lydia, he had a smile fit to burst, and the fact that she didn't shoot him down outright boded well for him. She humored him, let him slide temptation under her nose in the shape of ancient unsolved case files. Soon after, she took charge in picking apart what she deemed to be the more interesting case files. Why?

"Some of these predate impression kits or blood pattern analysis," she said, smiling briefly and went back to analyzing the report of a cannibalistic family. Since the bite marks on the victims didn't match anything human or animal no one could prove how they'd murdered victims, why or even if the Walcott family knew they were living on top of a freezer full of human bodies.

A smile qualified as progress in their relationship but he had to ruin it, "I always thought their forensics were interesting. That's why I would dig through my old man's stuff when he's not looking."

"Technically, these cases remained unsolved for years because of their _lack_ of forensic evidence," she huffed prettily and flipped through the case file nearly as dispassionately as she would a fashion magazine, she definitely seemed to digest the pages slower.

"They're just inconsistencies." He defended the honor of the Beacon Hills Sherriff's department.

"They're missing anything relevant enough to build a case," Lydia's irritability seemed to flare with amusement. "And anyway, they could have closed cases if they were more receptive to nontraditional methods of speculations. Just by applying Sir. Conan Doyle's method of logic; once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable..." She let the suggestion dangle in the air and gestured toward his burgeoning backpack, at least a half dozen case files of interest inside.

"Are you suggesting aliens?" He edged even further. "Because I do have some theories about that."

At that, she rolled her eyes and pushed him back in his seat.

Like a spider detaching from a crumbling web, Stiles' flailing limbs tried to catch himself before he hit the ground. He almost did but ultimately didn't. He caught himself on Jackson's sweater and nearly yanked them both to the ground. The shouting match that followed was unbearably embarrassing and when eyes turned to Lydia to pick a side ('whose fault was it?'), she had long since vanished. Along with the case files.

At first thought he felt hurt that she hadn't been there to back him up, it took him a split second to reflect 'why would she'. After all they weren't friends and Jackson was her on-again-off-again thing?

In a second thought, he felt panicked that the case files were gone as well.

When Mr. Harris assigned him detention for the disruption he went to the library after school to restock shelves. There he found Lydia at the farthest table with their case files waiting impatiently.

"I knew you were coming," she said quietly, once more pointing toward the seat across from her with the end of her pencil. "Mr. Harris hates you. Giving you downtowners detention is his favorite pastime."

Once she said it she regretted it but she didn't apologize because it was the truth. After all she walked straight out of the room during class and Mr. Harris later let her off with a warning. But Stiles stumbled and got an afterschool punishment.

"Why not?" he shrugged, and sat at her invite, ignoring the obvious hurtful and honest bias of her statement. "He never checks the book count. He won't even be back until Monday."

Lydia smiled in relief to watch him drop into their rapport, eager and ready to pick up where they left off.

"You're smiling at me," smirking, he said in hushed library tones and without looking up.

"I'm just thinking," she looked at their work and tried not to smile. Which only made her smile more. "I like a fascinating distraction. What do you get out of this ultimately?"

"I like helping my dad," he said with a shrug and handed her photo that she misfiled when she packed up in a rush. "It's rare, but if I do find something relevant I can slip it across his desk. Someone has got to bring up the solved case numbers. And if I get to take credit for your intellect, so be it. It's not like you're going to."

With that she kicked him sharply under the table, then immediately reprimanded him for yelping loudly in the library.

It was a bundle of conflicts; Stiles could be rewarded tens of thousands of dollars for helping lead to the killer in some of these cases. At the same time, Stiles could be charged with first-degree theft if he got caught stealing from the police evidence. Neither of these came into his mind, just the priority of making his dad look good at the end of the day, which she thought leaned more on the side of foolish than admirable.

She could never claim to do likewise for her dad, and besides she felt like his answer had only been partly true. And therefore he deserved to get kicked, maybe even a little harder.


	3. · 1st Time They Really Touch

· **1** **st** **Time They Really Touch Its Accidentally – Because Stiles Doesn't Know What The Definition Of 'Footsie' Is**

* * *

After studying together for a couple of weeks;

Lydia still replied _"that's funny."_ Or she scoffed lightly if she found something amusing, and Stiles never let on how much that irked him, although he tended to talk faster when annoyed.

Stiles still kept bringing files and anxiously sliding them over, instead of saying " _Hi_ " or " _Hello."_ But rarely did Lydia's anxious foot tapping under the table start to wind up like a spring.

"What the-?" Stiles shot upright, then clamped a hand over his mouth.

Looking startled Lydia sat further back at attention. After looking around, and glaring at others to look away she glared toward him, "what is your problem?"

"Your foot," he said, sounding scandalized.

"I kicked you? I didn't realize. Sorry," she sounded noncommittal. Blinkingly she resettled and scooted herself back toward the table.

"I have felt you kick me before," he leaned forward, jabbed a finger at her in accusation. "That was not a kick."

Nonchalantly, she folded her hands over her notes and narrowed her gaze at him critically. "If I kicked your leg, I'm sorry. But I tap my foot when I'm thinking-"

"When you're anxious," he accused.

"When I'm focused on something. You just happen to be in close proximity," she shrugged frankly. "It was bound to happen eventually."

"You tap your foot a lot when you're upset or anxious," he corrected her, ticking examples off on each finger. "So, why did I end up in the crossfire?"

After a long pause, she glared hard at him and he realized his demand was overstepping.

"Fine, I'm sorry I misunderstood." He sat back, arms spread out across the table and said with a sigh, "you can play footsie with me whenever you want."

"I am not upset. I am not anxious and that is not how you play footsie," she started out grating and ended up trying not to laugh.

"Well, I think there's something going on," he said obstinately, crossing his arms and leaning onto the table.

"Something, like what?" she leaned onto her upturn palm, intent on hearing out his reasoning.

"Wait. No," he backpedaled trying to think of a way to clear his thought process, "I just mean if you're feeling anxious and want to talk about it, you can talk about it. I understand there is value in ' _tapping_ '. It can rewire brain chemistry, stress-levels, hormones, blood sugar-"

"How do you know all this?"

"What? We're in a library, I read up on it. The point is," breathing in deep Stiles dove in, tapping on the table for emphasis. "You could just talk to me. I'm right here."

"I'd rather kick you," she said with a smirk and no meanness in her voice.

"You said that wasn't a kick."

"It wasn't playing footsie either," she looked confused, then after a moment of consideration pursed her lips. "Haven't you played footsie before?"

"No!" his alarm seemed panicked although quiet. "I'm not like- I don't exactly- you might know, but I just-" his wavering hands started to speak for him.

"What are you implying?" her eyes narrowed further and her voice lowered.

Stiles cleared his throat thoroughly, then spoke at an even tone "I'm not saying anything. If it makes you feel more comfortable, fine. Put your feet all over me."

At that comment, Lydia struggled to keep her feet still and then she outright grinned, "Look, if I wanted to take off my shoe and run my toes along your inseams, you won't mistake it for a kick. And maybe it would or wouldn't be because of anxiety but you definitely wouldn't be left confused about it."

Slowly, at a stretch Stiles sat back with a wondrous _'oh'_ of acknowledgment on his lips. Smiling Lydia looked over at him and waited for a reply. He looked around, left and right, to see if anyone in their scope noticed a change in barometric pressure.

"Well, if that's what a guy has to deal with to make a girl less anxious," he said, laughing lightly. At that Lydia did kick him. He grabbed at his shin and hissed in pain, "Or that. That too."


	4. · 1st Time She's Caught

· **1** **st** **Time She's Caught – They're Laughing**

* * *

Impatient to meet up at the library, Stiles hovered near Lydia's locker. Not exactly outside of her locker but deliberately within her eye-line and across the way.

So Lydia made excuses to meet her friends tomorrow or in another class. As she started to walk, he fell into step beside her and made it look casual and not at all like they walked _'together'_ together.

"Can this wait?" she asked, her voice was curt but not cutting.

"Hardly." He grinned his reply and she rolled her eyes. She knew he lied the more he insisted, "It's really important."

"Is this a joke?" she asked in the most literal definition.

"But hear me out."

Over time, Stiles' growing attempts to make Lydia laugh became more desperate and less subtle. As a side effect of his growing annoyance came a growth of familiarity and ease. Stiles had begun the practice of collecting bad jokes, so terrible it seemed like he'd bulk purchased those '101 Joke' books.

"So, wanting to see what the fuss was about, the blonde jumps down onto the train tracks and hops along behind the red-head. She counts along, too. Together, they're hopping and counting '22, 22, 22.'"

"I'm assuming the point is the cleverness of the red-head," she sided-eyed him with a crooked smile.

"Shush, let me finish. You're ruining my delivery." He sniped back, stepping toward her a little with a glare and overly-prominent frown. "Anyway, so a train appears heading toward them, but they're still hopping back and forth over tracks '22, 22, 22.'" And Stiles began to hop very minutely alongside Lydia as he counted. "And the red-head kept laughing and hopping, '22, 22, 22'. And the blonde is loving this, '22, 22, 22'. Finally, the train gets right there and the red-head quickly dodges out of the way! And whoosh!" at that Stiles rushed across Lydia's path for narrative emphasis causing her to stop short.

Blinking at him, she clutched her books to her chest and she waited.

He paused for dramatic effect, then continued at low delivery, "and once the train disappeared over the distance the red-head came out of hiding. Checked to see if the coast was clear, hopped back into the tracks and started to count '23, 23, 23.'" And he began to hop once more.

Scoffing lightly Lydia rolled her eyes, and continued walking.

"Wait, but you get it right," Stiles hurried after her, "the red-head would-"

"Oh, I got it," she said tartly, cutting him off before he started a 20 minute long over-explanation of another failed joke. "Googling 'Dumb Blonde' jokes just feeds into stereotype and it's barely that funny."

"No. You underestimate me," he scoffed, and rolled his eyes as well in a dramatic reenactment. "I didn't just Google it, I replaced brunette with redhead to make it relatable."

To cover up her giggling, mostly because she definitely did not want to encourage that sort of behavior, Lydia covered her mouth with one hand and tried to walk ahead of him. It only brought more attention to the act and Stiles tried to tease more laughter out of her. He tried to mock the vanity of the russet-to-redhead club.

All amusement died at the sound of Mrs. Martin calling Lydia's name from a door they had just hurried by. The tone left a clear intent for her daughter to return to her, immediately. A look in Stiles' eye meant to apologize or promised to make it up to her when they met at the library later, but Lydia's panicked glance told him to just 'GO'.

After school, Lydia never showed up at the library. Not that day or the next and Stiles didn't dare a repeat appearance by her locker.

Up to that point they had never exchanged numbers and, god no, they wouldn't add each other on any social media accounts. Which meant the next most likely time to see how she was doing was chemistry class on Friday. She was already seated by the time he hurried in, and he wasn't even late. When he said 'Hello,' she barely responded.

This wasn't your average cold shoulder for Lydia Martin. It was a hybrid vibe between _'lowly freshman, you are beneath me'_ and _'you hooked up with my ex-boyfriend'_. Stiles tried all the polite platitudes and barely got the basics, but when he offered to go to her mom and plead her case he finally got a rise.

"Why would you do that?" she sounded nasty.

"Well, because I don't want you to get into trouble for... for whatever you got into trouble for," he shrugged slightly.

Lydia looked beyond his shoulder while he spoke, but when she answered him she glared directly at him warningly, "I didn't ask for your help and I don't need you trying to fix things for me."

"I- eh, uh- wasn't. I just," he struggled to get a word out.

"Well, just don't," she concluded. Leaning back she flipped open her textbook, crossed her legs and began to tap her foot in the air.

Confused but dismayed, Stiles left well enough alone. For now.

After school, he poked his head into the library in hopes that she might turn up and clear up something, anything but there didn't show any signs of her. It would have to wait until next Friday, which gave him a full week to think of a better thing to say aside from _'eh, uh'_.

All of this proved redundant when Lydia leaned impatiently beside the passenger door of his Jeep. She said nothing only waved agitatedly for him to unlock the door and let her in already. At great speed he bolted to comply, it was a wonder he didn't break his wrist to get his key in the lock.

He asked where she wanted to be driven and she glared at him, "well, since my car is right over there; nowhere." Then after a pause, while watching the many different expressions and emotions flitting all over his face, all the things that left him speechless, she let out a laugh.

.

"How do I know you're not using me?" she said, as she shifted in the seat uncomfortably.

"How do I know you are not using _me_?" Stiles rebutted sarcastically. He smiled briefly but fell into confusion when he realized she was being sincere.

"Because why would I want to be dragged down to your loser depths?" she snapped harshly, her tone was hurt. Although she looked at him it seemed she looked through him.

"And why would I want to be exposed at your _'glorious'_ superficial heights? I could fall and break my neck in those shoes. I'm terrified of the thought, it keeps me up all night..." he started from a motor-mouth emphasis and ran to a dribbling pause. It seemed to carry Lydia's brewing hostility with it, the more she tried to concentrate on each particular word.

"A regular Acrophobic," she said, with a raise of her brow.

"Yep," he said with a grin. Glancing around, he searched the background for familiarity and just found her squirming uncomfortably in her seat, anxiously tapping her foot. "I embarrass you, so now you want me to keep my distance."

"You embarrass yourself," she scoffed defensively, but after a moment added reluctantly, "but that's what my mom wants."

"Not what you want?" asked Stiles, clearing his throat. The world around them never seemed more closed off than when waiting for an explanation from one of them, one of the uptown-ers.

"It's not that simple for me." Lydia struggled, biting her lip she searched for the words before putting them out there but still knew they weren't good enough. They may have been selfish, but she needed to defend herself. "I have affluential parents who are always looking for a reason to argue. With your reputation, this... whatever this is, it's as good as any, not to mention my mom's at the school every day."

"Can't you say-?"

"Say what?" she snorted. She wrung her hands on the edge of her skirt, pressing down on her kneecaps as if it would by proxy still her feet. "It's not like you would bring me around your friends."

"I would."

"Come on, that's a lie." She gave him a humorless smile. "You couldn't even introduce me without making an excuse."

For a split second Stiles didn't understand and then he did. However great his friends were, and they were great in his eyes, they would still definitely question _'why the heck'_ he was hanging out with an uptown-er. And not just any uptown-er but THE uptown girl, the one who put the 'Pop' in popular. But if he brought anyone else to a party he wouldn't be asked to plead a case.

"You'd say _'because chemistry class set us up?'_ or tell your bros _'because she has a good set of personalities?_ " she teased, feeling a little bitter and mean-spirited.

"What would you tell your friends? That you took pity on me?" he replied, feeling defensive. The moment he said it he regretted it. He could see he hit a nerve by her sudden stillness.

"No. What?" her eyes refocused on his, no longer searching the window for bystanders. Whatever she meant to say evaporated when Stiles moved to further face her. She exhaled sharply and smiled a little, "Stiles, aside from your wardrobe, what is there to pity."

"That's it, right there," he told her, smirking a little. "I'd tell them 'here's my friend Lydia. She's got a great sense of humor'."

"And I'd say 'here's my friend Stiles, he can be really smart. Sometimes.'" She tucked her hair behind her ear, her smile spread further and Stiles noticed her feet were curled up beneath her now.

 _They were good here. Safe here._

That thought shared euphoria to it, which made it hard to stop smiling.

"But we're not going to tell anyone, are we?" Stiles leaned a little further over and whispered to her conspiratorially.

She rolled her eyes, "oh, you are smart."


	5. · 1st Time They Hold Hands

· **1** **st** **Time They Hold Hands**

* * *

During a lacrosse game, Scott seemed to get seriously injured when Eddie 'Abomination' Abramovitz hit him hard enough to send him head over heels. He crashed to the ground and every seat in the stands took to their feet in shock. Coach shouted for no one to move until the medics could survey the damage and Stiles remained by the bench, tortured and gnawing on the netting of his lacrosse stick. The sound of the crunch when Scott hit the ground echoed and rose in volume in his imagination.

From where the girls' sat, Allison clambered down the steps to the edge of the field speedily and stood practically in front of Stiles, on the tips of her toes to make out what was happening. Her panicked whispers did nothing to calm his worse fears.

During the stagnant interim, Lydia stood up from her seat and went through the milling crowd, and like a good friend went straight to them and tucked herself in between. Stiles felt like he would stop breathing until he felt her secretly, unobserved, slip her hand along his.

While facing forward he glanced to the side, he dropped the lacrosse stick and frowned for what felt like forever while he slid his palm along her hand until their fingers entwined. Her bright-green eyes captured his attention and her breaths guided him to calm. Alone and invisible in a sea of people, they waited tethered together until the on-site medical professionals called the 'All-Clear'. Allison darted onto the field to better assess and the other players moved into plays of anxious roaming but he still stood on shaky legs.

Finally, when Scott's groggy voice could be heard clearly summoning Stiles to come carry him to the locker room and change him out of his gear, Lydia's eyebrows rose with amusement and she released him.

It wasn't just that she went over to hold his hand, or how natural he felt no matter how fiercely he squeezed but it was the pang they felt upon letting go that said they needed to experiment again with the hand holding thing. And they couldn't wait for another time when things were emotionally falling apart.

The next time they held hands, it was for less than 4 seconds when Stiles caught her heading upstairs to Physics, while he was meant to go downstairs to World History. He meant to tell her he'd be late for their study session because he had to swing by the station and bring his dad a late lunch. He caught her by the hand and held it for a gentle count, of one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, four-Mississippi before she smiled, nodded and continued onto class.

The next time they held hands was when they were late sneaking back to the school campus and they were made to wait at a red-light. He kept tapping anxiously on the dashboard, so she covered his hand with hers and held it there longer than a four-Mississippi count. She said she couldn't bear his road rage, so then at each red-light she held on a little longer.

From then on Lydia would hold out her hand for him to take and help her into the passenger seat of his Jeep, or he would put his hand out for her to take when hopping down.

Then when her tapping pencil distracted him during chemistry class Stiles had no problem reaching over and keeping her hand still, keeping her hand in his, or keeping it calm under the table.

Then he reached for her when he had no excuse and she reached for him when she knew no one would notice or they held on when they did not realize they'd done it at all.


	6. · 1st Time They Definitely Don't

· **1** **st** **Time They Definitely Don't**

* * *

They had spent every free minute sheltered, driving around in Stiles' Jeep for a couple of weeks, and while they both loved it, they hated it. She had had to deal with his physical immersions and he had seen her virtual narcolepsy when things weren't going her way.

As much as they joked about redecorating, they knew Scott would notice if Stiles tidied up. It would bring unwanted questions. Which meant it wasn't always the tidiest but he tried to leave only the newest leftovers under the backseat and throw out takeout over 3 days old.

Once he had begun to leave the doors unlocked at all times, she had begun to get used to climbing into the backseat every free period whether he was available or not. He wasn't surprised the first time he jumped in to see she had the seats flattened out to make enough room to fan out her books, to study comfortably and then fall asleep across it all.

They did some homework and studied other subjects to keep him from failing 'the hard ones' and rarely went through unsolved cases anymore but when they did it was more for nostalgia's sake. Sometimes they gossiped about their friends, more like they worried over Scott and Allison like two mother hens. Often they lay side by side holding hands, staring at the ceiling bickering about the small useless things that made the world go around and made each other laugh but more often than either of them liked, things turned sour.

"You act like it's a sin to want something more," Lydia snapped, her crankiness raised due mostly to the awful heat. "It isn't such a great luxury to want A.C. for your damn Jeep."

"It is! It is exactly that!" Stiles sighed, and continued stubbornly. "Having an air conditioner is a luxury item!"

"It's a lifesaving item if it keeps me from killing you." Squeezing her eyes shut, she heaved a sigh and rubbed at her temple to stave off a headache.

"Don't be dramatic." He lifted a brow skeptically, which looked ominous beaded in sweat.

"Just let me pay to get your A.C. fixed," she pleaded. She disregarded the flush on his face that could have been embarrassment but took it for heatstroke.

"I can handle it," Stiles protested. He craned his neck, the collar of his shirt rumpling further up and open to pillow his face.

"I know you can." She shifted further up, so that she and Stiles were facing off. Their eyes met evenly, and when she let her gaze wander she could analyze the precious pigments of his skin. Teasingly, she said, "Just like I know you're man enough to handle me handling the bill."

"Totally." He feigned consideration and smiled tightly. "Just not with my Jeep. This Jeep, it's my _'everything'_."

"You and your _'everything'_? That's a lot to deal with." Lydia had gotten a bit tired of all of it. Letting go of his hand, she leaned up onto her elbow and glared down over onto him. "It is getting claustrophobic in here."

At a tilt, on one knee, she hovered across Stiles and rattled the rear door knob. She bemoaned her unfortunate circumstances and made a halfhearted effort to leave. A sheen of sweat pulled along every inch of her, it matted her hair into a web of scarlet over her shoulder and down her back. It made peek-a-boo lacework of the sheer white blouse as she leaned across him and rocked back and forth playing at the handle.

Instantly a dark flush moved through Stiles cheeks, he sucked in a breath harsh enough for deep sea diving and he trembled with the effort to remain absolutely still. With a great amount of self-control, he asked Lydia "if you're going to go, could you please hurry?"

He dragged a lacrosse jersey from his nearby backpack, covered his lap and the growing tightness of his jeans. It didn't leave much to the imagination what he tried to obscure by the panic on his face. Lydia sat completely upright, her eyes open wide and a grin of astonishment pasted across her face.

"Well," she said, her voice low and amused. "What's wrong Stiles? Feeling a little hot and bothered?"

"This is not funny. This is reall- could you just?" Stiles bit out each word, his eyes full of mad and mixed emotion.

She lay back down beside him, careful to align herself knowing that they didn't touch, not even down to their footsies.

"No, I think I'm just going to lay here." She did exactly that. "Give me your hand."

Insistently, she turned her hand palm up and made wave motions until he gave over and clamped a free hand with a thud against hers on the Jeep floor. After a second they threaded their fingers and squeezed tight, stilling him a little.

"How is this going to help?" he hesitated.

"Because crawling across your hard-on to scurry away from this conflict could cause us permanent scars."

"Us?" Stiles glanced over at her and grinned.

"Yes, our mutualistic symbiotic relationship. Like a parasite." Lydia gulped and struggled at how to fill in the gaping silence that followed. "You know, there's a term 'Our Forgotten Organ' - it refers to the human microbiome, which shows we have ten times more parasite bacteria cells in our body than DNA cells."

For a moment Stiles couldn't draw a breath. And then he busted with laughter so loud it no doubt drew stares from anyone who walked nearby. Turning to look at her, his color started to look vaguely normal aside from the clamminess that came from being contained in his tin can of a Jeep. He felt flattered by Lydia's flat attempts to be off-putting, by her version to appear gross and her determination just to stick around.

"Try baseball," Stiles suggested, breathing in gasps. "Let's try talking about baseball."

"That's not exactly something we played around my neighborhood growing up," she muttered uncomfortably.

But Lydia seemed fine with listening because she knew the rudimentary things about history and stats. As far as passion and who deserved the Series Championship that year, in that regard Stiles could go on for hours.

In the end they decided to go halfsies on the A.C. for the sake of their survival.


	7. · 1st Time They Kiss

· **1** **st** **Time They Kiss.**

* * *

When Lydia's parents announced their divorce, it wasn't much of a surprise, but it still hurt to hear and she bolted the moment they finished their 'Official Sit-down Martin Family Meeting'. After 10 minutes of driving through her hometown, she was pretty sure she got lost.

"I don't know why I called you." Lydia inhaled deeply and then sighed.

"I know why," Stiles said and she could hear his smirk through the phone.

"Oh yeah? Enlighten me," she scoffed and pushed open her car door to stretch her cramped legs. Sitting and contemplating dialing and not dialing for an hour and a half had done nothing for her feelings of numbness aside from lace it with back pain.

"If you called one your bourgie friends then it'd come out that the mighty Martin Empire is falling," he said trying to sound wise and sagely to cover the sound of his yawn, but reined it in when she sniffed back a wince. "And you secretly hope there's still a chance your parents will work it out," he sounded quieter and because of which, sounded sleepier with every word.

"Are you still there?" Lydia breathed out shakily, she felt alarmed by the nearness of a drive-by car and the true-soundness to his words. Moving further from her car, she walked along the shoulder of the road, drawing the line up the path and hoped he could hear some of the disdain she had in his analysis.

It was half past three on a school night and she felt tired too but the only thing she wanted less than someone listening to her in this state, was someone seeing her in a ditch, looking tear-stained, in utter shambles with barely a coat thrown over her pajamas.

"Yeah, I am if you are? I wasn't sure if you wanted me to go on," he sounded truly apologetic.

"Keep going," she gulped, not trusting her voice entirely but knowing he couldn't hear the rolling of her eyes and she flipped off a car that honked past her.

"If you called me, even if I had anyone to tell, which I don't," he sounded flippant and funny, "who would believe me? This insignificant waif from the wrong side of the tracks."

" _'Waif'_ is taking liberties with the definition, and Beacon Hills doesn't have train tracks," grinning she sniffed back a few tears. She grumbled as she stepped off a curb and tried to step over a low gate she found further down the road. It gave her a nicer prospect than watching traffic and obsessing angrily.

"Fine... uhm, how about _'good for nothing lowlife with a superiority complex.'_ You okay?" his voice wobbled between nearer and further, as she convinced herself climbing the small hill of stone would give her a better reception.

"I'm okay, just tripped on a little wood fence."

"Where are you that there's a wood fence that you would consider little? Lilliput?"

"Funny."

"So funny, you considered possibly laughing? Maybe even for a split second? Or did the Lilliputians tie your tongue?"

She scoffed lightly, the closest she could muster to a laugh. "I told you. I got lost. I just thought the view might be nice from over here."

"Is there a view?" He asked after a moment, sounding invested and clearheaded.

"It might be, if I could see the city better through the trees."

"Not a metaphor, is it? You know, I have half a mind to go up there and-"

"And your complexes have hardly progressed enough to qualify as _'superior,'_ " she cut in and started to smile but it felt watery and the view, while pretty made her feel bone cold. She wished she had worn boots instead of slippers.

"Ah, well." He hardly sounded bothered. He sounded like the reception went harsh and noisy, then he asked a little uncertainly. "But the rest?"

Her chest tightened, she didn't think she could feel any worse that night than she already had when she stormed out of the dining room. "You aren't insignificant, just... I don't know."

"Convenient?" he sounded amused, which infuriated her and amused her. "Like navigation systems in cars."

"No, that thing has been reading go west into a river for three miles." Lydia said haughtily, and distractingly. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gave way to a few reluctant tears and admitted. "At least I know you won't tell me whose side I should pick. Or keep dictating to me exactly how everything is going to be fine. You wouldn't judge me if I... felt something..." she kept fumbling for the end of her sentence because she didn't like the sound of it, even as it choked at the back of her throat.

"Like crying? You should let yourself cry Lydia, if that's what you want." Stiles' words were measured and his voice sounded uncommonly strong to her ears.

Instead of replying Lydia nodded. When her breathing became what seemed like the loudest thing in the world, a passing car roared below and it startled her to the bone. She giggled from nerves, then tears started to sting her eyes and tumbled over from more nerves and grief and a little laughter.

Stiles sounded less confident the more he spoke, "Millions of songs written about this, you know. Birthday songs, love songs, break up and make up songs. All of them say great things about tears. I don't know of any 'Parents-just-Got-Divorced' songs, but if there are any, I bet they're country and I bet they're damn good."

"Stiles..." Lydia all but croaked and then clearing her throat she tried again. "I called you because you're the first person I think of, the first one I want to call if there's an emergency."

"So, like an earthquake?" A growing, grinning cockiness could be heard clearly in his voice. "Forest fire? Dead body?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice dripping in just as much sarcasm. "In any of those ridiculous impossible situations."

"Yeah?" he laughed lightly. "Not even 911? That's flattering, irresponsible but incredibly flattering. Dammit!"

"Learn to take a compliment," Lydia laughed briefly. When there was no reply she asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I just tripped- hey, 'know you don't have to wait for a natural disaster to call me and vent."

"I know," she nodded, smiling and sniffling.

"And even if I did have someone to tell, I'd never tell them anything about us anyway."

That gave her pause but a strange sense of peace as well, "I know that, too."

"And I'd never judge you for crying," when Stiles said that Lydia struggled to hear him clearly through the strange echoing in the phone. "Besides, I think you look really beautiful when you cry," while the last of his statement took time to register, she had already recognized his limping figure walking up the path in her wake.

Wincing, and with his hands held up in surrender, Stiles went onto explain how he used the details of how the glitch in Google maps gave away most of her location but in combination with the time of night, walking distance from her car, the description of the hill view and the little fence he pretty much calculated she would probably maybe be there. Or possibly Albuquerque.

Without replying, Lydia disconnected the call, dropped her phone into her coat pocket, intently chewed her lower lip and ignored the way wind whipped at every exposed piece of skin. He looked bad off, although not worse off than her. The borrowed hoodie he wore swam at his wrists and off of his collar, he looked child-like with hair like a bird's nest, and dark open eyes equally startled and filled with sleep.

Walking down through the trail to meet him a third of the way, Lydia nodded without hearing him. When he reached up to help her step down, she used the hill's incline to pull him toward her and kissed him, gripping his face like she feared he'd slip away.

To Stiles' great credit, some unholy power kept him from toppling over and gave him the grace to swoop instead of tilt. Then for a moment, it was as though they were dancing, turning in each other's hold, his hands wrapped around her waist, a hand flat on curve of her spine, while her arms circled his shoulders, her hands fisting his hair. There was no faltering thought, or lingering doubt, and nervousness over ideals.

Then came new knowledge that Lydia's breaths came out like small hums as her kiss deepened. Or the feeling when Stiles' cheekbone pressed and nuzzled, insistent in-between breaths like he needed to come in for more kisses even when he was the one who came up for air. Or the magical detail with which Lydia's lips could remain simultaneously the strongest sensation yet softest touch in the known universe. Not to mention the most significant detail, being the indecipherable composition of Stiles' skin and how it begged to have fingernails trace along it forever.

A while later, blinking but unseeingly, Stiles leaned back and whispered, "I wasn't sure if complimenting someone crying really constitutes a compliment."

"It doesn't really." Lydia's smile lengthened, and she let go of her hold slowly, reluctantly. "I just wanted you to know I appreciate your opinion." With that, she patted his chest and led their way back to their vehicles.

On street level once more, Lydia headed back to her car but assured Stiles she would call him once she got to her front door. And that was that.

True to her word, the moment she got to the front door of her family home she called and confessed she couldn't bring herself to go inside. Which he thought was alright, since he couldn't bring himself to stop driving around so, if she wanted to drive around in awkward angsty silence he was her ride.

"You can be awkward and angsty if you want, I'd just like to take the ride Stiles," she said with a short laugh, while she waved his Jeep over from the curb.

.

The next kiss came soon after and easier, in fact it was almost boring in its traditionalism. They were in the dark of a movie theater. The humor being that Lydia had been Scott's date and Stiles went as Allison's.

For a good while in their dating career Allison and Scott kept it a secret from their over-protective parents. During that time they couldn't be seen picking each other up, meeting each other in public, or even buying popcorn together. Of course Lydia and Stiles said yes to perform the duty as faux-date/chaperone, like they had many times before.

Except this time when Scott and Allison ditched them to go 'watch' the movie up front and center aisle, Stiles and Lydia didn't leave to kill time in the mall like they usually would. Instead they stayed seated in their banishment seats in the far-rear left, practically hugging the wall.

When Stiles reached across for popcorn from their shared bag, a Eureka moment struck him. He even gave off a little 'eep' sound. Still licking butter off of her fingertip she glanced over at him in concern, afraid he had managed to choke himself to death before the beginning credits. Instead, with slow delicate intent Stiles brought his hovering hand down to her chin and ran his forefinger along her jawline, grazing her ear and threaded his fingers into the loose strands of her hair. Lydia inhaled sharply, her eyes intently found his in the growing dark and she managed to remove the popcorn bag from between them without tipping the bag.

With less rush but more intensity, they tasted the warmth of sweet Reese's pieces and sour skittles, slick on the touch of each other's lips and tongues. Sometimes their fingers linked and crushed each other's tight, other times they got lost wrapped up in the others hair or the fabric of their clothes. When he felt starved for air he caught his breath, like a steam engine against the crook of her neck while she peppered his face with kisses. She kept him sometimes laughing, sometimes pining but always secure in knowing they would meet again in the dark.

After the movie, the four of them split off to Lydia and Stiles' separate vehicles and Scott and Allison perceived their silence as discomfort rather than thoughtful reflection. (Their excessive kiss-up-thanks was the guiding force that lead to Allison and Scott's coming out as a couple the following day.) While Scott and Allison babbled, gleeful, glowing and gratefully to their faux-dates/chaperones Stiles looked over at Lydia sharing none of that blushing glow or youthful exuberance. For a split second it gave room for doubt, maybe they were flawed in their connection?

But as Allison rushed to Scott, where he waited by Lydia's VW Beetle for his ride home, they finished their lengthy romantic goodbye, Stiles discovered Lydia standing beside his Jeep, familiar and cordially as ever. He hadn't seen her at first, small, cross-armed and smiling, leaning casually, looking beautiful even washed out in the unflattering garage light. Smirking, he swaggered up to her, and slouched to lean against the Jeep.

"Typical, desperate lovebirds." Lydia rolled her eyes, then looked up toward him. "We're not like that, are we?"

"Desperate?" Stiles made a face, of exaggerated distaste. "No, not at all."

With a finger tugging at his sleeve she urged him to lean over and kiss her, neither heated nor rushed, simply a satisfying 'goodnight kiss' with the promise of a future where there would be so many more.


	8. · 1st Time They Definitely Do

· **1** **st** **Time They Definitely Do**

* * *

There was a ticket underneath the windshield wiper and the upset that came up in the back of Stiles' mind felt unreasonable. He heard a chorus of 'sorry dude' followed by sniggers from his friends but there was something way, way off about it. So he didn't let himself get mad at first, he gave himself to the count of ten to investigate then to get mad about it.

Upon further investigation, Stiles pulled the pieces of paper out from underneath the wind resistant blades of metal and plastic, which revealed a flimsy envelope carrying two Mets tickets. Shot through with delight and energy he bounced around in his spot, struggled not to woot and focused all his energy on finding that goddamn girl. Of course, she had to be nearby. Of course, she had to be right here. Of course, she had to be watching from the back of the Jeep. He couldn't scramble through the door, over the driver's seat and into their inner sanctum fast enough.

"Well, do you approve?" Lydia asked, her face a smirk the utter depiction of cockiness. "I don't care if you don't like me spending money on you but-"

"I don't care! They're Mets tickets!" Stiles exclaimed then came to a full stop, practically kneeling over her on all fours. "What are you wearing? I mean, what you're wearing, jeez-" he dropped back grinning, a hand splayed over his eyes, too much in admiration of her to hide his face entirely.

"You weren't using it," she shrugged easily, tugging at the ends of his 'Dwight Gooden' Jersey. In the large size blue Jersey, Lydia should have swam but she wrapped an orange belt around her waist and made it into a stunning mini dress. Topped off, her trailing tresses were artfully captured up under a Mets ball cap. It was everything Stiles loved, crossed borders and blurred together like an expressionist painting. "It looks better on me anyway," her grin lengthened the longer Stiles remained speechless.

Blinkingly, Stiles nodded.

"Stiles," Lydia nagged, and she kicked him lightly with the tips of her Converse. "If we don't leave soon we'll be caught in too much traffic to actually see any of the game."

Right, the game. That spurred him into motion. Because she did get him tickets, not only that she planned on going with him which was mind-blowingly awesome. Even in the early traffic, she let him prattle on about the Mets and he let her prattle on about their stats. The seats were in a right field reserved section and before Stiles could think about asking money questions, Lydia cut him off and said they belonged to one of her dad's clients. They kissed up to her dad all the time and threw perks his way but her dad rarely cashed in. Stiles had a feeling something in there was a lie but didn't want to push it because he was near enough he could smell the turf and see the crevice of Jay Bruce's ass.

"I can't see anything," she chuckled, "and that's actually something I might appreciate."

After a pause, Stiles dropped down onto his knees and offered his shoulders for Lydia to climb onto. For a longer period than she expected, he carried her throughout the game.

Then, a crack like thunder shot through stadium, people jostled like a herd of hyenas for the fly ball that headed directly toward them. Lydia actually touched it for a moment before someone in the row behind them smacked her arm hard. At a sharp twist she went spiraling and Stiles could only soften her fall by aiming them to land on other people. Swearing and shouting, Lydia was on her feet within seconds, her hair flying loose and the swollen bruise on her arm went unnoticed because all she wanted to do was clobber the man in the row behind her who caught the ball by hitting a girl half his size.

"Alright, alright," Stiles soothed her, while laughing and brought her back beside him. "That's enough there, slugger. Let me see how bad the damage is."

By large Lydia seemed fine, unfazed until she noticed a little blood on the cuff of his Jersey, and then she began to choke up. Stiles took that as a sign they needed to start heading home.

"This is not how I wanted things to turn out," she complained, her legs folded under her in the back of the Jeep while he sat stretched out beside her, hunched over trying to better examine the wound by cellphone light.

"Really? This is exactly how I wanted it to turn out." His eyes focused intensely until he switched off the phone and licked his lips before speaking again. "Every day I wake up and think; what could make 'Dwight Gooden' look hotter? Should I go to a Mets' game with my girlfriend? And what is cooler than a head-on collision? And look at that, three for three. I'm living my best life."

A challenge had been issued by introducing the title _'girlfriend'_ into their running dialogue.

As a warning Lydia declared war with only a raised brow, and bit her lip to keep from grinning. Stiles waggled his brow to antagonize her and responded with a smirk. Lydia maneuvered herself up very carefully in the small space, she reached her arm over him to grip the head rest of the driver's seat, kept her head low from the ceiling and slid over onto his lap. Her other hand held the side of his face firmly, trapping him in a kiss that seemed unending.

Rushed and scrambling, Stiles' restless fingers grasped and pulled apart the belt that wrapped Lydia up and while his Mets Jersey hung open at her elbows, it left her displayed in little else than lingerie. With a soft thud, Stiles' back had hit the floor as she flattened him out and whipped off his belt with a fierceness he had only seen in cartoons and by villains in movies. When he chuckled against her, Lydia sat up abruptly to kneel on top of him, she looked wild-eyed, in a state of near undress and her hair trailed over one shoulder. She crooked a finger for him to sit up and as Stiles followed her command she swiftly yanked his clothes up over his head.

Button up, T-shirt and all leaving him with far more skin exposed than she had, which made her break into a Cheshire cat grin in appreciation. Stiles squeezed her, wrapped his arms around her waist and laughed, pressing their foreheads together.

After a moment Stiles hands ran hot again, along Lydia's spine and she shrugged his Jersey off all the way. He kicked off his sneakers and tugged down his jeans while she'd wriggled out of the last of the fabric that kept her skin from moving naked against his.

Of all the times they'd discussed eventually being together, and after all the times they pawed each other in the back of his Jeep it never seemed likely to get this far. It always felt right, the right person, the right reasons, the right everything except for time. Each day they woke up thinking of the other, and every night they went to bed thinking of each other but finally here was the opportunity to live life to its best. And since they were missing the rest of the game anyway. And since lord knows how much traffic they would hit on the way home. They might as well just take their time waiting these hours out.


	9. · 1st Time He's Caught

· **1** **st** **Time He's Caught – They're Flying**

* * *

If there was a rule of thumb for afterglow, it was that afterglow was supposed to last, at least till he got through the front door. But once Stiles reached home and his old man was waiting outside, he knew something bad had happened, something deep and gut wrenchingly bad.

"How long have you been sneaking behind my back and hooking up with the Martin girl?" the Sheriff smelled of beer. He wasn't drunk, just sort of out of it, and he sounded emotional.

"Depends on your definition of 'hooking up,'" Stiles said, cautious of how much humor to spin as he climbed the steps and leaned on the banister across from his dad.

"I define it as willfully deceiving me, sneaking off to meet her when you should be in class or at practice." His dad took a long sip and looked off for a moment, to cut off any growing anger he felt boiling.

"Wow, those are very specific allegations. They're not exactly wrong, but not technically right either." Stiles' palms sweat, his long fingers desperately wrung themselves as he wished he still remembered Lydia's shape underneath them instead of the panicky empty air grasping at straws.

"Kid, don't play games." His voice grew sterner, "do you know what her parents could do to us? To someone like you? If they found out by- oh, I don't know by watching the highlight reel of a Mets game. They could destroy us."

Stiles' mouth dropped, there was no sneaking around evidence like that. He prayed the world opened up and swallowed him whole. Mrs. Martin already raked Lydia over hot coals once, he dreaded to think how this would go over, just imagining it, imagining Lydia withdrawing from him again or worse, being transferred away to a different school and it terrified him.

"Did you think about what's going through her head?" his dad's concerned voice didn't have the same peaks as Stiles' inner-monologue, and he buckled under the weight of it. On the stoop he sat and his dad dropped beside him, "do you think she sees a future with you? You're just a rebellious phase, the newest thing to piss off her parents. I've seen this a hundred times."

"Dad, I'm not some idiot kid," Stiles defended. He hunched forward leaning his elbows on the tops of his knees, and leaned his chin onto his folded hands. He concentrated hard on his dad's words and however harsh they were they made sense. As in actual, factual, sense but still he had a hard time reasoning with them.

"I know you're not," he rubbed Stiles' neck, then held him by the shoulder at arms' length looking at him analytically. "Before you lose your mind over this girl get out of it."

Stiles' dad wasn't the only one who shared these concerns. He didn't shortchange lacrosse practice the following day and while in the locker-room, a handful of the other guys caught the game. Not all of them caught on that it was Lydia, thanks to the Mets' cap and because of the preposterousness of a scenario 'how a broke punk like him get a rich girl like her,' but his best-friend Scott had.

"I'm not saying to break up with her," whispered Scott as he leaned over Stiles' locker door. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Well, it's hurting my head to hear everyone rag on me about it!" he grumbled and slammed his locker shut.

"I'm not ragging on you. I just think you deserve-" he stopped just sort of saying _'deserved better'_ when Stiles glared a warning. "-you deserve to be with someone who can make you happy, publicly."

That response confused Stiles even further. He had hoped Scott would be more on his side to rely on as a future cover when his dad questioned his whereabouts if and when he snuck out to meet Lydia but now it seemed unlikely.

"Look at me and Allison-"

"Oh, my god!" Stiles threw his hands up in the air and started away. "Everyone sees you and Allison! All you ever do is gaze longingly at each other every minute of every class. Unless you meet between classes and maul each other in the halls!"

"We're not that bad," Scott smirked a little proud at the idea that everyone took note of him and his lady-love.

"Oh, yes. Hah, yes you are and you know it!" Stiles headed toward the parking lot with Scott following closely at his heels. He figured if he trailed Scott near enough to Allison's orbit she'd lasso him in for their customary ride home.

"Listen, Stiles seriously," Scott said curiously apprehensive. "Just think about this, okay? If you really care about each other, that's great. But at this point are you sure you don't just really like the secrecy? Or maybe, I don't know you or she might have told your best-friends by now? And if you guys aren't just getting off on the secrecy, what are you going to do when the semester ends and you don't have chemistry together anymore?"


	10. · 1st Time Lydia Says 'No'

· **1** **st** **Time Lydia Says 'No!'**

* * *

"They have a point," Lydia said wistfully.

Stiles glowered in her direction, he wanted to do or say something mean but the best he could come up with was to squeeze her hand hard enough she squeaked and pulled away.

"Ow," she smacked him on the belly. He laid on the Jeep floor with his feet propped up on the wall crosswise. She sat with her legs over his midsection and her back leaning against the rear door.

"They're just saying these things because they care," she said, starting to tap her foot, and when he noticed he rubbed soothingly along her calf.

"They're just judgmental jerks," Stiles pouted.

"No." Lydia glared over at him seriously and kicked out of his hold. She moved around to kneel beside him and regarded him, "have you seriously not thought about this? My mom could make sure you failed or repeated a grade if she were feeling sadistic that week. My dad has pull with pundits and politicians, he could make sure your dad never got reelected into office. And what were _you_ thinking of doing when our chemistry class ends? If you keep fake failing to validate our assignment there is no way we're going to be in the same classes next year."

"You have put a lot of thought into this," Stiles said in a small voice, the whites of his eyes were perfectly visible.

"I think of it every morning." Lydia said and sighed. Looking around she took in the surrounding and smiled back at him tenderly, "I think of it all the time, when I go through each door and with each step. I think of it each time I get out of bed, and I tell myself _'no. Not today.'_ "

Stiles looked up, his gaze softened and he reached to touch her face gently. Stiles was loathed to admit it, because since their beginning each smile of Lydia's meant the world to him but he had put off thinking of the consequences. He stopped short and touched her collar instead, tugged at her dress strap because it was close but not hurtfully intimate. He asked finally, "So what do you tell yourself when you end up in here instead?"

Leaning forward she kissed his head, then glided around to sit right beside him and answered "I tell myself I'll say _'no'_ tomorrow."

"You are a brilliant negotiator," Stiles chuckled softly and reached down for her hand. "Don't you worry for your sake?" at that she shrugged, dismissively. "You liar."

"What do you want me to tell you, Stiles? A half-dozen scarier things to drive you away," Lydia shook her head. He felt like he could hear the fissure sounds of each individual hair trace against his collar when she leaned onto his shoulder.

"Tell me one thing they hold over your head, then. Just one, so I don't feel as bad," Stiles whined, turning his head so that she had to lean back and look directly at him.

"Fine." Lydia leaned up and kissed him, intimately, short and sweetly. When she pulled back her bright eyes were raw with emotion and bore through his dark eyes. And she admitted honestly, "It terrifies me what they could do to my boyfriend."


	11. · 1st Time Stiles Says 'Yes'

· **1** **st** **Time Stiles Says 'Yes?'**

* * *

Later that same night, the too-lateness of Lydia's phone call made Stiles jump. Not to mention her innate paranoiac sense of discretion.

"Yes," Stiles answered, numbly and unthinking.

Then there was a strangeness that Lydia called and didn't text, but she explained, "My fingers, they keep shaking. No, no, no, it's fine. Can you just come over?"

With that Stiles couldn't think straight. The warring look his dad threw him, like he was undecided whether to yell at Stiles to stay or to sternly warn him again and again not to go. Wordlessly Stiles pleaded _'just not right now'_ as he jetted by, grabbing his hoodie while he bolted out through the kitchen door.

Since their relationship hadn't exactly been under the radar Stiles feared she had been exposed and was now being raked over hot coals. Part of his mind worked up a literal image and thought she invited him up just to deflect the torture. But even if that were so, Lydia wouldn't have invited him there just to deflect. Of all her many flaws cowardice was not, no, not ever on that list. But what if her parents wanted to meet the awful downtowner who defiled their precious uptown daughter?

How quickly could they ship her away with a new name and identity? A new car? An all-expense paid trip around the world? A million dollars or she could bet on the showcase... No, he had begun to think about 'the Price Is Right,' but everything was extravagant with uptowners, wasn't it? Aren't they supposed to throw money at a problem and it'd go away?

A scary, nauseating thought hit Stiles. What if they were calling him uptown to their home to bribe him away? Isn't that what rich people do, too? His grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white. If that were the case, his bad-temper wasn't exactly a secret and Stiles couldn't imagine a way of answering them which wouldn't get him arrested. In turn, it would drag his dad all the way uptown and just prove every prejudice right about his troublemaking upbringing to begin with.

The car behind Stiles honked, it disturbed him out of his panicked reverie and he veered toward her house.

After memorizing the sight of Lydia's house from afar, due to all the times she met him secretly at the corner or he drove past it honking so they could meet down the road, it felt strange to pull into her driveway. To see those white colonial arches welcome him of all people. Stiles' headlights reflected off of Lydia's silhouette while he turned up the driveway and her hand rose to shield her face. He ran to her side, after a rush job of parking and checked to see her for any visible signs of harm.

"I'm okay." She looked at him questioningly and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Well, yes of course. Just swell, dragged out of bed in the middle of sleeping, drove all the way across town to chit-chat," he wiped at his face, and tried to rein in his annoyance but it began to boil.

"Please, you practically never sleep. And you're definitely never asleep at 9:30." Lydia smirked, and Stiles glared at her for knowing him that well. "What were you doing, watching ESPN with your dad? Sorry to cut in on the fun, I just called you because I wanted to hang out with you for a couple of minutes while my dad and my mom were fighting."

Leading the way up the slope of her porch she came over to a bench. He hesitantly followed and slipped into the space beside her while he glanced around occasionally looking for armed guards.

"I'm sorry, I thought your dad was out of town."

"He was," Lydia heaved a sigh and laid back against his chest, pulling his arm up and around her shoulders. "Then I called him. I told him about you."

Stiles choked in response and lurched a little forward almost like he would make for a run if Lydia didn't have his arm so soundly trapped.

"You see, not every uptown guy comes from money. He's a downtowner at his roots," Lydia grinned up at him and his brow rose with interest, fascinated to learn from Lydia's locked up family tree. "But he doesn't exactly advertise it because it goes against his polished professional image."

"Of course," Stiles scoffed and made an airy gesture, but Lydia elbowed him to keep his bias in check just for a minute longer.

"Well, after our talk today I gave in and decided to call _'daddy'_ " Lydia said the title with an exaggerated baby-tone that made Stiles laugh, and she went on to explain. "Then I told him I was dating someone mommy-dearest didn't approve of. That made him happy to hear, but when I told him you were from downtown things got complicated. Next thing I know he came barging through the front door, calling mom a controlling hypocrite. His paternal effort surpassed all expectations."

Squeezing his eyes closed, Stiles mentally calculated, "how often do you pit your parents against each other like this?"

"This is the first time since they started talking about the divorce," Lydia chirped satisfactorily. "That's why I know my plan will work. Because right now they're trying make me pick who to live with after the split. My answer is whoever lets me get what I want. And I want you."

"You're scary-brilliant," he leaned over and kissed her briefly, grinning and tried not to be too amazed to encourage such outright devious behavior. "That's why I love you."

When Lydia sat back, she looked blank-faced and like she had been punched in the gut. Only then did Stiles realize the words he had said out loud. Before he began to recant she put her hand over his mouth, narrowed her eyes and looked around, giving everything in that moment a hard thought.

"Okay," she agreed and brought down her hand, "and I love you, for loving me."

"Yes? You love me?"

Lydia nodded, once more just shy of laughing and tried to shrug off her confession like it wasn't a big thing. Pleased with how effortlessly he could now get her to smile, Stiles rolled his eyes, he hooked his arm around her and pressed her tight against him.

"And I get to love you. So, good deal."


End file.
